The Hero and the Fat Girl (New Hampshire Bears #3) (8 page)

Maxima giggles at Arabella rapid talking. “You were wonderful, and I’m glad you had a great time.”

“I did. Dad, you saw too, right?” She beams at me.

“Every move, honey. Are you ready to go? Grandma and Grandpa should be here soon.”

“Can I ride with Max?”

“Sure you can. Come on.” Maxima smiles.

Arabella hugs me before taking Maxima’s hand, and we all walk out together.

As I pull up the driveway, I see my parents sitting on the bench on the front porch. I love my parents. Even though they both had high-powered, demanding jobs, they always made time for us. We always had family dinners, no matter what, and they took a deep interest in our schooling.

“Dad.” I grin, walking up the couple stairs. My father stands and embraces me. His black hair has begun to thin and turn gray. Besides our hair, Cora and I get our eye color from him too.

“How are you, son?” He releases me and stands tall. It’s his military gene, as he calls it.

“Good,” I answer before kissing Mom’s cheek and hugging her. Mom has always been short, but makes up for it with her genius brain. “We need to talk. Just us,” I whisper in her ear. She pats my back twice letting me know we will.

“Where’s my granddaughter?” Mom releases me.

Before I can answer, Maxima’s BMW pulls into the driveway. Arabella comes squealing out of the car toward her grandparents. My parents race to her, and they meet in the yard. Hugging and kisses are all around for the three of them.

I chuckle and walk over to Maxima, who’s carrying all of Arabella’s bags and hers. I take them all from her, receiving a smile from her.

“They all seem very happy,” she observes.

“Yes. It’s been a while since my parents have seen Arabella.” I nod my head toward the house and she follows me.

We aren’t in there long before Mom, Dad, and Arabella come in. I introduce everyone. Maxima smiles at them, shaking their hands.

“Dad said we can have pizza,” Arabella announces.

I shake my head. “No, I said we’d order something.”

“Pizza is fine,” Dad says and pats Arabella on the head. “We’ll have whatever our granddaughter wants to have.”

“Pizza!” Arabella jumps up and down, making us all laugh.

From the time I order the food, until it is all gone, Arabella keeps our attention. She talks about school, dancing, her toys, and the books she and Maxima are reading. There’s not a topic she misses.

Finally, I tell her it’s time for bed and she groans. Maxima takes her upstairs, leaving me with my parents.

“Remy,” Mom calls me by my childhood name, and she still calls me from time-to-time. “You should show me the backyard while your dad opens some wine for all of us.”

“Sure.” I catch on to what she’s doing, and I lead her out to the backyard.

My backyard isn’t huge, but it’s large enough. Mainly it’s playground equipment for Arabella.

“Okay, Remy, talk.” She sits down on one of the patio chairs.

“I’m fucked.” Not the best way to start, but it’s the truth. “I fucked up, and now I’m fucked.”

“I think you should explain more to me.” Mom rests her head on the palm of her hand, and I take a seat next to her.

I take a deep breath and tell her how I lied and manipulated Maxima into moving in and being engaged to me. I explain how much I’ve fallen in love with her, and how I don’t want her to leave Arabella or me. When I finish, my mother is staring at me. I can’t read her expression. Then again, Mom has a pretty stone-like face. It’s her job.

“You’re not saying anything.”

“Remy, I’m trying to decide if I should give you a constructive critique of how stupid you are or punch you in the nose.”

Before I can respond, she continues.

“This is a young woman’s life you’re toying with, Remington Scott.”

Oh God, she’s pissed now if she says my middle name.

“She has the right to know this. Every single bit of it. And let me add this, you’re now messing with Arabella’s life too. I can see how fond she is of Maxima. How hurt do you think she’ll be if Maxima leaves?”

I try to say something to defend myself but she doesn’t stop.

“We raised you to be a good and honorable man. Not a liar and con artist. That’s what you are right now. I knew you were lying when you told me about Maxima moving in and being engaged.”

“May I say—”

“No, you may not,” Mom growls at me. “I think you said enough. In fact, you said more than enough. If you told me all of this to help you get out it, then you’ll be highly disappointed.”

“I want to keep Maxima in my life and here with me,” I rush out before she cuts me off again.

“Then you need to man up and tell her the truth. But, if I were her,
I
wouldn’t stay. You lied Remington Scott.
Lied
. On top of that, you’re making her a liar too. What is wrong with you? What could you have possibly been thinking when you thought this was the right thing to do?”

“I wanted Maxima.” My answer is simple.

“Well, you did it the wrong way.”

Just then I hear Maxima’s laugh as she and Dad come outside.

“We thought we’d enjoy the night as well,” Dad says as he sits down with us.

“Arabella was out before I finished the chapter.” Maxima smiles, taking my hand and the place next to me.

Mom launches into a discussion with Maxima about Maxima’s job. Sweet Maxima tells her the ins and outs of the investment banking world. Mom and Dad talk about their years in the military, Mom’s law school and JAG career, and Dad’s years in the Pentagon.

“Well, I hate to end this evening, but I have to work tomorrow.” Maxima stands up.

“I, for one, am looking forward to our girls’ day on Friday.” Mom beams.

Maxima has won over my parents. Now, I need to man up and tell her the truth.

Chapter Five

Maxima

I sit across from Jackson’s desk. He’s staring at me and I at him. If he thinks I’m backing down, he’s the one who’s going to be wrong.

“Fine. Just go ahead and take tomorrow off, but I’m seriously seeing a decline in your work.”

I shake my head. “Jackson, I have more clients than anyone else in this office. I handle my workload just fine.” Say what you want, but my work ethic is solid tight.

“You did,” he corrects me. “I’ve been sending our new clients to other staff.”

“Why?” I gasp. I’ve always gotten first crack at new clients.

“Because you’re not the shark you once were, Maxima. Your mind is elsewhere.”

I narrow my glare at him, but I don’t utter another word. I simply get up and head toward the door. Before I reach it, Jackson blocks it, and my heart starts pounding.

I can’t be blocked in a room.
He
always blocked me in.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out,” Jackson apologizes.

His words barely register with me because my ears are ringing. My heart is hammering, and I’m beginning to sweat. No, I forbid myself to have a panic attack here.

“Fine,” I manage to say.

He nods and opens the door for me.

I run to my office and grab everything before racing to my car. I drive home in record time and see Remington’s car, but not his parents. They all must be out.

I bolt into the house and straight into the bedroom, only to find Remington stretched out on the bed with his iPad.

“Hey, you’re home early.” He sits up. “Mom and Dad picked Arabella up.” He puts down his tablet. “I thought—” he stops when he looks me over. “Maxima, what’s wrong?”

The panic attack is coming on stronger, like a building tsunami heading for a small island. The breathing exercises aren’t helping. I need something stronger. I need…

Remington.

I drop all my things and practically jump into his arms. He catches me with ease as the tsunami hits the shore. I sob into his chest as the memories hit me.

She
always yelled at me. “What do you have that I don’t?” or “You better make him happy tonight.” It started at the age of six. Night after night,
he
would come into my room.
Him
pinning my wrist down, my screams, my pain, my tears are all echoing in my head.

I had to get out of
their
house. I couldn’t stay. When I was sixteen, I found out about Boston College’s early scholarship program. I busted my ass all through school to keep my grades up and well above average. Boston College was my ticket out.

When the news came to me that I’d gotten the scholarship, I was able to find jobs that paid cash so I could buy a plane ticket. Hell, I would have hitchhiked if I’d had to.

My last night there, I packed a small bag, just a few clothes and my copy of
Little
Women
, because it was my favorite book, and I always wanted to be strong like Jo.

I counted down the hours, and with two hours left, I heard the front door slam.
He
was home. I prayed to God
he
would just pass out… instead
he
turned my door handle. The bile moved up my throat.

When the door opened, everything stopped.
He
walked in with another man.

“No,” I yelled. “No.”

He
yanked me across the bed, and the other held me down.

I screamed as loud as I could until the other shoved himself into my mouth.
She
came into the room, and I pleaded with my eyes for
her
to stop them, but
she
just closed the door.

The next hour of my life was the worst. They took turns, over and over, in every place one could image. The smell of blood and semen hung in the air.

When they left my room, I could barely move. The bed covers were stained with my blood, tears, and their sweat. I threw up in the trashcan, picked up the clothes that had been torn off me, and clean myself up.

After I changed into new clothes, I grabbed my duffle bag. I eased my door open and listened. There was loud moaning and thumping down the hall. They were with
her
now and this was my only chance.

I ran and never looked back.

My first few months in Boston were rough, but finding out I was pregnant almost killed me. I couldn’t have a baby at sixteen. I wouldn’t have
his
baby.

“I’m going to throw up.” I push Remington away and barely make it to the bathroom as my lunch comes up.

Remington holds my hair back. Maybe he really does care for me. Isn’t this how a real man treats you?

When I finish, he helps me up to the counter and hands me my toothbrush. I brush my teeth as he uses his sink and rinses out a washcloth.

“Here, look at me,” he softly requests when I put my toothbrush up.

I do. He gives me a small smile. Very gently he wipes my face. My heart slows down, and I’m able to breathe regularly again.

“Will you tell me what happened?” he asks after patting my face dry.

I don’t say anything.

“You can trust me, Maxima. Hell, you just cried on my chest for almost thirty minutes; can you at least tell me why?”

Did I cry for that long?
Can I trust him?

“Jackson blocked me from leaving his office and it…” How can I say it? “It scared me.”

“What? Why? Did he hurt you?” He firmly, but gently, grasps my upper arms.

I shake my head. “He didn’t hurt me. It just…scared me.”

Remington isn’t buying my answer.

“I swear I’m okay. I just had a small melt down.” I swipe at his shirt where I cried off my makeup. “Sorry.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the shirt, Maxima. It’s you I care about.” He cups my face tenderly.

My heart races again, but not from panic. It’s joy. I realized when I was in the bookstore with Arabella that no man has treated me the way Remington does. True, I’ve not let men get close to me, but Remington’s actions speak to me in ways I can’t explain. They ease me. It’s why I kissed his cheeks, slept in his bed, and let him touch me. It’s why I turned to him to calm the panic, the fear.

But do I trust him?

“Kiss me.”

Wait…did…I…did I say those words? No, I’ve never said those words. I’d never say those words.

“Please.”

Yes, I said those words.

I’m standing here asking this gorgeous man who held me through a panic attack to kiss me. I’m sure he’s not too keen to kiss a fat girl.

His dark brown eyes search mine, and he leans in, brushing his full lips against mine. I stifle my gasp as we fully connect. There’s no harshness to it. It’s firm, but I like it. The soft hint of Remington’s spicy cologne fills me, making me relax more. I open my mouth, allowing him to slide his tongue in.

He moves his hands from my face and grips my hips. I jump away from his hold.

Remington repeatedly says, “I’m sorry.”

I nod at each one of his apologies until he stops saying them. “It’s okay. I just can’t…do things.”

Do things? What am I? Ten?
Well, in some ways I wonder if I am, especially in the bedroom.

“It’s completely wrong of me to push you.” He holds up his hands. His expression shows he’s deeply afflicted. He’s rooted in pain.

“Remington, no.” I grab his hands and pull him toward me. “It wasn’t you. I asked, well begged, you to kiss me. It’s my anxieties, my uncertainties. You did nothing wrong.”

His face seems to relax a bit.

“You wouldn’t hurt me. My heart, my soul knows it, but I’m messed up, and…” I can’t say all I want to. My words and past will scare him away.

The fat girls don’t get the heroes.

“I’d never hurt you, Maxima. I swear.” He squeezes my hands.

“I know, but there are…” Tears fill my eyes. I can’t tell him my past.

“Can I hold you?” he softly asks.

I nod because I don’t trust my voice.

He wraps his arms around me, and I inhale his scent one more time to ground myself in the calmness he evokes.

He’s my hero.

“What?” Remington asks. “I’m your what?”

Damn.

I step out of his hold. Do I tell him the truth?

“Dad! Max!” Arabella calls from downstairs, and I hear her racing up the stairs toward us.

“In here, Arabella,” Remington calls, and he hands me the washcloth again.

I wipe my face again and pat it dry while he goes into the bedroom. Feelings for Remington are out of the question. He might be my hero, but I’m just a fat girl who’s in a fake engagement. I can’t have any feelings.

I stroll out of the bathroom and down to the living room where everyone is sitting.

“Max,” Arabella wraps her arms around my waist.

“Did you have fun with your grandparents?”

“So much.” She smiles up at me. “Grandpa is taking us to dinner.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Actually,” Daniel, Remington’s father, interrupts. “I said I’d make dinner, but my forgetful son didn’t set up the grill.”

Oh no! He looks upset. “Mr. Rosin, it’s my fault, not Remington’s. I came home early, and he was helping me.” I sound almost pleading, hoping he isn’t going to start yelling.

“Maxima.” Claire, Remington’s mother, stands and approaches me. “He’s kidding with Remy. He’s not upset.” Her tone is soft and low.

“Maxima.” Remington is next to her. “You can let Arabella go.”

“What?” I’m baffled until I look down and see Arabella pushed against the wall, and I’m blocking her with my body. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Yes,” she frowns. “You pushed me, Max. Why?”

“I’m so sorry.” I hug her to me. “I didn’t mean to. I swear. I was—”

“Arabella, why don’t you go with your Dad and Grandpa? Okay.” Claire doesn’t leave room for any other option.

The little girl nods and takes Remington’s hand. I scared her. I can’t believe I did something so stupid.

“Maxima, let’s sit for a moment.” Claire holds her arm out toward the couch. “Sweetheart, you’re shaking. Let’s take a seat.” She says it more firmly, and my legs begin to move following her to the couch.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat several times.

“You’re fine. My husband’s sense of humor is dry and rough. It takes time to get used to it. Protecting my granddaughter was instinctual, just like a mother.”

I don’t say anything.

“I’ve seen the look in your eyes in other people. I won’t ask you who or any details, but if you ever need to talk, Remington is a great listener. You
can
trust him. He may have a lot of unorthodox methods to express himself, buy my son deeply cares for you.”

I nod. I experienced it first hand less than an hour ago.

“You’re not shaking anymore.” She smiles. Her eyes are more of a golden brown, but they are welcoming, accepting.

“I feel better.” I’m able to breathe again, and I take in everything she told me about Remington.

Does he really care for me? I’m sure he hasn’t told his parents the truth about our fake engagement. She’s just being kind. Even though he’s been helpful, there’s more to this strange relationship of ours.

“Let’s see what those boys are up to.” Gently patting my knee, she stands, and I follow her out to the back patio.

Daniel and Remington have the grill going, but no meat is on it yet. Arabella is curled up in one of the chairs looking at her dad’s phone.

I pat Remington’s shoulder as I pass him and head to Arabella, taking a seat next to her. “What level are you on?”

“Eight.” She smiles and then comes over and climbs onto my lap. “See.”

I still don’t understand the video game, but she seems to forgive me. It’s the only thing I
do
care about.